Haven
by kelseymetro
Summary: Stress:a physical, mental, or emotional factor that causes bodily or mental tension. Draco is about to discover a particularly good remedy for this affliction. Warning: story contains mature sexual relations.


**Well, it appears another story has struck. Apologies for the long break guys, lets hope I can stick around this time.**

**Disclaimer: Belongs to Warner Bros. and J.K Rowling etc.**

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"You could just pretend to relax, you know," Pansy murmured, "At the very least it would make my evening considerably more enjoyable." Her sharp talons rapped the back of his hand in reproach. "This is after all for _your_ benefit."

Draco raised his eyes heavenward – Merlin knows an eye roll would get him a fork stabbed into his exposed arm resting on the table – and sighed.

"I'm sure this is absolute torture for you, Pansy dear," he replied with a pointed nod at the hot young thing she was currently ogling unabashedly. "Perhaps a little more decorum is needed though; his dance partner seems to be glaring quite heatedly at you."

And indeed she was. The dancing couple on stage had finally stilled to a thunderous applause from their enraptured audience, most of which were middle aged witches drooling at Pansy's current object of...well perhaps affection was the wrong term to use. His female dance partner was frowning in Pansy's direction, barely waiting for the applause to finish before dragging her other half off the stage.

Pansy sniffed, her attention finally back on Draco again. "That was just thinly veiled jealousy, of course. This _is_ a Louis Vuitton." She indicated loftily to the silky black sheath dress she was wearing, which was exposing quite a lot of flesh with its plunging neckline.

He supposed it was nice if you liked that sort of thing. You know, _heterosexuality_. He wrinkled his nose slightly before raising his hand to signal the rather dashing waiter over. Draco glanced over to check Pansy's glass before ordering himself a strong scotch on the rocks.

"Of course," he repeated, continuing their conversation. "Though it is completely your fault we're here anyway."Upon receiving his drink, he flashed a quick smile at the waiter before taking a fortifying sip of the amber liquid. Or atleast, he was attempting to take a sip when the glass was promptly ripped from his hand and set over the other side of the table.

The witch responsible simply scoffed at the glower he shot at her. "I believe it was your mother's idea that you take a short vacation away from work. And," she cocked a single eyebrow, "I also believe it was the drowning of your sorrows in alcohol that led her to force you to take said holiday." She quickly drained his drink, leaving the ice melting slowly in the bottom of the glass and a few drops of scotch still rolling around in the bottom of the glass.

Draco averted his gaze stonily to the acrobatic trio on the stage currently back flipping their way towards the front of the stage, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

"Fine, I can tell when one begins to tire of my mothering."

_Thank Merlin._ He wouldn't survive the three weeks at Haven if he had to listen to her fairly accurate impression of a mind-healer.

He instead turned his attention towards the risky stunts the acrobats were now attempting, creating a pyramid before the top most entertainer somersaulted from the top into waiting arms below. He vaguely heard Pansy order him a sparkling water, her blatant flirting with the waiter breaking his concentration on the stage.

"Fickle today aren't we," he remarked spitefully and flicked his eyes disapprovingly at the water which had just arrived. "I thought you were lusting after that attractive dancer a minute ago." Resolutely ignoring the glass, he folded his arms partly to be childish, but also to protect himself from any cutlery related attacks.

Pansy arched a sculpted brow. "And why, pray tell, am I not allowed to have both," she replied disdainfully, "I _am_ on holiday as well."

Feeling an amused smile threatening to break through his carefully schooled expression, he scanned the room with just a hint of restlessness.

"Best be careful, Miss Parkinson, lest you acquire an unsavoury reputation."

A peanut promptly bounced off his forehead and into his lap.

He scowled at her and straightened his suit haughtily.

She swiftly copied the expression, her own eyebrow arching in apparent amusement.

"Best stop this 'Miss Parkinson' nonsense, before any more peanuts find themselves launched at your head."

Draco barely restrained an itching hand from brushing his light hair. It wouldn't do to have peanuts nested in his hair. Though his line of work ensured that atleast one disgusting object would dirty his hair each day, most of which spelled into it by his rather immature partner who relished in making Draco apparently 'squeal like a girl'. His words, not Draco's.

Bloody Weasley.

...couldn't keep his abnormally long nose out of other people's business.

"Finally, some real entertainment," Pansy said appreciatively, "a duelling display."

He pulled himself out of his musings and glanced at her. "What was that?" When had the bloody acrobats finished?

She rolled her eyes, obviously recognising he hadn't been paying attention for the last few minutes. "Duelling display. Look, they're coming onto the stage now."

A glowing ward was quickly erected which separated the audience from the stage and stretched right from the floor to the gilded ceiling of the large hall. A flurry of excited whispers echoed around him; this duelling display was apparently the favourite of the vacationers.

A stout man with a unfashionably long moustache stood at the side of the stage and swiftly cast a _Sonorus_ on his voice. "Ladies and Gentlemen, if you'll welcome to the stage...the legendary duellists James Smith and Neville Longbottom!"

Draco's mouth fairly dropped open.

And stayed there for several embarrassing moments.

True to the announcer's words, Neville Longbottom strode confidently on stage followed by a Sandy haired wizard.

_The_ Neville Longbottom. The very same Neville Longbottom who achieved a record number of melted cauldrons in potions and constantly forgot the password to the Gryffindor common room. Draco couldn't quite believe it.

Longbottom, a legendary duellist?

A snort fought its way up his throat before he swallowed it down.

It was probably a good thing they constructed a ward in front of the audience if Longbottom's level of talent was to be expected. Excuse him, lack of talent. He grinned at his own witticism before sitting back low in his chair, taking a sip of the accursed sparkling water before realising what he was doing. He quickly put it back on the table and returned his hands to his lap.

James Smith? The name didn't seem to ring a bell, and yet the stance of the man seemed remarkably familiar. He was standing with his back to the audience, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, awaiting some sort of silent signal from Longbottom. But for all his projection of relaxation, the visible muscles in his back were tense.

Draco cocked his head slightly in curiosity. Sandy blonde hair, slightly taller than average stature and fairly well defined muscles...the wizard certainly looked delectable from the back, although personally Draco preferred a darker shade of hair on his partners.

He flicked a glance over to Pansy who seemed equally intrigued by this mystery wizard and almost missed the initiating spell.

It was a weak Stupefy at best, shot wide to miss James Smith by several metres, and it dissipated on the edge of stage walls. Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow, which dropped suddenly as James Smith began to retaliate.

The pair was stunning. For all of Longbottom's clumsiness in Hogwarts, he certainly seemed to have applied himself once out of it. They ducked and dodged each other's spells, starting off slow but as the duel went on the two were constantly moving in a dance that seemed dangerous and yet terribly beautiful.

Flashes of different coloured light lit up the hall even from behind the shimmering ward and Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of his face. Longbottom's duelling partner seemed to have switched from defence and was now furiously throwing spells, none particularly dangerous but might have stung a bit if they made contact, which then shattered into sparks once in contact with Longbottom's steadfast shield.

The two constantly circled each other, but Draco never caught more than a glimpse of this mysterious James Smith's face. Unbidden, he found himself leaning forward in his cushioned lounge chair.

Then unexpectedly the hall lit up in brilliant orange flickering light as James Smith whipped to face the audience before raising his wand to his lips and an enormous fiery dragon erupted seemingly from Smith's mouth. It circled the ceiling before rushing straight for Longbottom's shield and exploding, knocking Longbottom straight on his arse. Clearly out of breath, Longbottom stayed down, a grin shining on his round face.

The hall exploded in thunderous applause, surely the loudest of the night but Draco did not join in.

His eyes were fixed securely on James Smith's face, in particular the brilliant green eyes that burned in the middle of said face. His chest heaved from exertion, but like Longbottom he seemed genuinely content.

The same could not be said for Draco, not by a long shot. Because he, like all others in the Wizarding community knew it to be a fact that Harry Potter had disappeared about five years ago. He had finished Auror training and abruptly up and disappeared, never to be seen again.

Despite this common knowledge, Draco had also discovered another two pieces of information in the last ten minutes.

Firstly, Harry Potter was appalling at glamours.

And secondly, he was standing in front of Draco in the guise of 'James Smith'.

* * *

Draco could tell instantly the moment Potter noticed him in the audience. Although he showed no obvious signs and his eyes seemed to slide right past him as if seeing through him, Potter's shoulders tensed.

He and Longbottom bowed once to their adoring fans – Draco resisted the urge to sneer at them – and exited the stage promptly.

Draco could tell his eyes were firmly fixed on Potter's rather attractive behind but could not for the life of him tear them away.

"Darling, _you'd _better shag him or I might just beat you to it," Pansy interrupted, her voice teasing but Draco knew better. She would jump at the chance to shag Potter if he didn't get their fast enough.

He frowned.

Did he seriously just agree to shag Potter?

"Smith was his name, right?" Pansy deliberated.

Wait, Smith? Had Pansy really not realised who Longbottom's partner was? Draco turned to look at her and the expression on her face was brooding. There didn't seem to be a spark of recognition in her eyes. There still might be a chance to exploit the situation. Maybe he could blackmail Potter by threatening to reveal his whereabouts.

A flicker of wickedness quickly ignited in his brain and a rough plan began to form.

He stood swiftly and brushed off imaginary lint from his suit. "Excellent idea, Pansy," Draco replied casually before draining the bloody water wishing it was something stronger. "I wouldn't wait up if I were you."

It took him a mere few minutes to find his way to the back entrance of the stage, but Potter and Longbottom were nowhere to be seen. The acrobats and the dance duo were still loitering there, joking and laughing quietly with each other. Draco acted nonchalant as they made their way past him and through a door he hadn't noticed before. He gave them a few seconds head start before following them, casting a hasty disillusionment charm. The familiar tickling sensation calmed his frazzled nerves and he slipped easily into Auror mode.

The door led outside where it was already dark. A fading_ lumos_ down the path made him quicken his steps. Thick greenery, typical of a mountain resort lined the gravel path and moonlight barely filtered through to light the path. If Draco lost sight of the group of performers in front of him he would have to light his own wand, thus giving away his position.

He fairly flew down the path, but was disappointed when the light revealed itself to be an ordinary wall scone lighting a peeling sign. 'Access to Staff Quarters. Guests please turn back.'

Swearing under his breath, Draco scanned his surroundings. He was utterly alone. There was nothing for it; he would have to follow the dark path to an unknown location.

The word _Gryffindor_ sprung to mind.

He set off, wand at the ready but not yet lit. There was enough light to see just about in front of his face, he just hoped nobody would be idiotic enough to leave something of considerable size on the path where anybody could just trip over it.

After what seemed like a good ten minutes, several small cabins came into sight, some obviously occupied. Raucous laughter permeated the air and Draco paused next to a cabin which seemed to be empty.

How would he be able to find Potter now? Logically, he was bound to be with others and Draco would be immediately sent back to the main manor house, utterly Potter-less. At the very least, he had no idea where to start looking for the speccy ex-Gryffindor.

"Sorry Sir, no guests allowed in these parts."

Draco barely restrained himself from jumping a foot in the air but whipped around quickly to face the owner of the voice.

Potter. And he was looking straight at him.

Draco glanced down at his feet, or atleast at the area where he thought they should be but was surprised to still find them disillusioned.

Right then.

He cancelled the disillusionment charm and schooled his face into a carefully blank expression.

Potter didn't even bat an eyelid when he materialised again, merely leaned back against the wall of his cabin and looked vaguely apologetic. He showed no sign at all of recognising Draco

Oh he was good.

Assuming a contrite look, Draco shrugged lightly. "Awfully sorry, must have taken a wrong turn somewhere."

He cast a searching look over Potter's face, mentally cataloguing the differences now he could see Potter up close. The shape of James Smith's jaw was different, more angular and of course the disgusting sandy hair that didn't suit Potter's complexion at all was not the same shade as Potter's usual ebony locks, though it did still look like woodland creatures buried themselves in it. In fact, it was a wonder that no-one else had recognised him.

"Not a problem, the main house is back that way," Potter/James Smith/whoever he was, replied in a bored tone. When Draco didn't answer, he hesitated a second before continuing, "Do you need any help finding your way back?"

Draco pondered this. Not that he needed any help finding his way back; it was a single path after all. No, Draco was starting to doubt his plan. This man didn't act like Potter at all. Potter was rash, didn't think things through and certainly wouldn't have offered Draco Malfoy help willingly. But looking at his face, there was no plausible way that this man _wasn't_ Harry Potter...unless of course, he had a doppelganger out there.

"No," Draco finally decided, "I think I can manage to find my way back alright." He slid his wand back into his inner suit pocket before putting his hands casually into his trousers pockets. His fingers brushed something cool and he drew it out then stared at it for a while.

He looked back up and quirked a slightly crooked grin, before flicking the galleon in his hand towards the sandy haired man. It flew in a wide arc before being caught effortlessly, even in the pitch dark, by Longbottom's duelling partner.

Ignoring his bemused expression, Draco turned and started back the way he came, lighting a proper lumos charm this time.

"Ah," Draco called softly, without pausing in his stride, "by the way, nice glamour Potter." He made sure he said it loud enough for his voice to carry and felt almost triumphant when there was no reply.

A barely imperceptible shake shifted the ground uneasily.

* * *

Draco saw very little of Potter for the next three days, perhaps he was suitably shocked by Draco's recognition of him that he had turned into a hermit. Draco let out a harsh bark of laughter. Doubtful, most of the entertainers seemed quite busy at these sorts of places.

Take Pansy for instance, he saw even less of her than he did Potter. She seemed to have decided to enjoy her holiday in true Slytherin style. Why, first three days she's managed to break up the dance couple _and_ is cheating on the poor bloke with the waiter.

Manipulative bint. He can't help but admire her though, she does have guts. Unfortunately, her antics had left him with entirely too much time to think about this whole Potter situation. Thankfully, the day before had led to an excellent excuse for Draco to monopolise Potter's time.

After wandering around aimlessly for the first two days, itching for a drink of something stronger than lemonade, Draco had found himself in a foul mood. There was nothing to occupy his time, or atleast he didn't think there was until he overheard a conversation between some young girls clustered around a notice board.

"Duelling lessons!" one girl was gushing, her eyes bright with glee, "And with that gorgeous Mr Smith as well!" Her friends around her expressed their own delight. They were huddled in front of a sign-up sheet which already looked about three quarters full.

Draco's eyes narrowed.

He waited until the gaggle of girls had moved on, a few of them sending admiring looks in his direction – which he mostly firmly ignored. He then hurried over to the board. Potter was running a two hour session at 1 o'clock starting Friday for a week and...

...the entire week was booked up.

Draco let out a huff of frustration before taking a sneaky look around. After checking that the coast was clear, he raised his wand and carefully erased the last name from every day and signed his own with a fancy curlicue at the end.

If Potter _was _avoiding him, Draco would have to put him in a situation where the very last thing Potter could do was ignore him.

* * *

Draco had woken at about ten on Friday morning, pleasantly surprised that he had been able to have a lie in. After dressing and showering quickly, he discovered Pansy had not slept in her bed again. Rolling his eyes in absent fondness, he ventured out to the terrace where house elves had already set up breakfast.

The perks of staying in the most expensive suite Haven owned.

Draco poured himself a cup of tea from the lightly steaming pot and added a smidgen of milk, sighing in relief. Firewhiskey may have its merits, but a strong cup of tea in the morning really did wonders for his disposition.

He really didn't know what his mother was thinking when she had asked him to take three weeks off work and stay here. Well, 'asked' wasn't quite the right word. In a rare fit of violence, Narcissa had threatened to hex him six ways to Sunday if he refused to take the time off and relax. First holiday off in...well in the last five years he had worked for the Ministry and he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt weighing him down. Whilst he was kicking back here there were still cases left open that he and Weasley had been working on, people that needed to help, he couldn't...couldn't...

The familiar squeezing feeling around his heart made him raise a weak hand and clutch at his chest. His eyes were wide as he looked around frantically for a glass of whiskey or anything to numb the suffocating feeling. Squeezing his eyes shut in dismay, he didn't notice Pansy's approach until her hand lightly squeezed the top of his shoulder.

"Calm down, you're fine," she murmured, her voice soothing him. The sound of his rapid breathing filled his ears and he gasped several breaths until he no longer sounded like a steam train puffing at full throttle. Most uncivilized for a Malfoy.

The thought had risen to the front of his mind and he winced.

"The Ministry employs roughly a hundred Aurors, rotating in regular shifts with regular holidays. How come _you_ are the only one who takes it upon himself to work no less than a ninety hour week with no breaks in between?" Pansy inquired softly, her hand gently smoothing the fabric of his casual shirt.

Draco refused to open his eyes or reply. He couldn't explain it, not to her.

The silence stretched between them until he could bear it no longer. "I just..." Draco started lamely, "have a lot of work to do, you know that."

"Right," Pansy replied, her tone disbelieving, "I'm sure you do." She sighed faintly before squeezing his shoulder again. "Okay, we're going swimming."

Draco's eyes flew open and he stared at her. Wasn't she going to grill him until he begged for mercy?

"I've decided to leave the issue for the time being," she sniffed, obviously reading his incredulous expression, "and I haven't seen you for the last three days." She let go off his shoulder and made her way back into the living room.

"And whose fault is that?" Draco retorted, rapidly eating a slice of toast.

"I imagine it was Carlos's fault," she promptly countered, "What can I say, some men are just insatiable."

* * *

After swimming for a good two and a half hours with Pansy, Draco had quickly showered and dressed again so as not to be late for his duelling lesson with Potter.

In retrospect, maybe an Auror taking duelling lessons from a holiday entertainer was probably a little laughable. But then again, it was Potter. Who knows, maybe he would be able to teach Draco something after all.

Besides, learning how to duel was not Draco's main aim for this week. Oh no, he'd much rather figure out different ways of unnerving Potter.

Draco grinned, ignoring the odd looks the other guests were giving him. They were waiting in the hall for Potter/James Smith to turn up and begin teaching them how to disarm opponents. Draco struggled to stifle a laugh.

The other ten guests were chattering pleasantly to each other, and out of those ten only two of them were male. Draco supposed he should make an effort to atleast converse with them but couldn't really find the energy to move from where he was lounging against the wall. Social niceties seemed infinitesimally more difficult without the cool weight of a glass in his hand.

Sighing softly, he waited there until Potter rushed in, some ten minutes later with apologies ready for his tardiness.

"Awfully sorry all, must have overslept this morning," Potter rambled, looking particularly unkempt this morning. His already badly abused hair was standing up in Sandy tufts making Potter look well and truly shagged.

Draco appraised him, his eyebrows raised slightly. Maybe _that_ was why Potter was really late. How very interesting. Maybe there was more than meets the eye when it came to his and Longbottom's partnership.

Draco shuddered. That certainly wasn't the most pleasant thought. Not that Potter was a bad sort – but Longbottom was just too damn gangly.

Alas, Potter was speaking again and Draco surmised he might actually have to listen so as to know what they'd be doing for the next hour and three quarters.

"- so I thought for our first lesson, if you don't mind, you could write down next to your name which spells you would most like to learn." Potter picked up a piece of paper and waved it feebly. He was obviously wary of the hormonally charged girls mere metres in front of him.

One of which put up her hand, simpering. Draco barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "But Mr Smith, what if we don't know which spells we'd like to learn?"

Potter ran his fingers through his sandy mop in thought. "Well, I suppose if you really don't have any ideas, we could just with the basics and work our way up?" He offered. At the eager faces he nodded easily, his eyes floating over Draco without so much as a flicker of interest.

"How is everyone's disarming?"

This had better be bloody worth it.

* * *

Maybe a three parter? Four parts? We'll see.


End file.
